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Title: Tie My Hands (5/?)
Pair: Phelps/Lochte
Rating: nc17 for the smutty goodness
Summary: Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte? They were the best worst-kept secret of the swimming world. And Michael didn't like it.
A/N: Thanks for sticking with me. They'll come much more quickly now. Don't hate the playa, hate the game!


Tie My Hands, Part 1: When Hilary Wants To Throw the Calender Away.
Tie My Hands, Part 2: When Michael Starts Running.
Tie My Hands, Part 3: When Ryan's Stomach Doesn't Cooperate.
Tie My Hands, Part 4: When Michael Runs Into His Past.

Tie My Hands, Part 5: When Ryan Realizes Kyle Might Be Onto Something.

It isn't like he wants to ditch his dad. Ditching's a pretty strong word and Ryan totally loves his father; if there was a real Best Dad contest, if they could measure shit like that, Steve Lochte would win it. Hands down. Like, not to be cheesy, but gold medal all the way.

So, that being said... dad can be kind of clingy when Devon, Brandon and the girls aren't around. Not that Ryan can blame him, since some of it's probably his own fault. Cutting practice to surf or flooding the locker rooms would put the fear of God into any coach—and because his dad is his coach it's like a double-whammy.

"I didn't even bring my skateboard," Ryan tells said father, who's standing in the lobby of their hotel looking pretty dubious. His arms are crossed over his chest in full on coach-mode. "I'll look both ways before crossing the street. Twice."

There's a twitch of lips that Ryan reads as a break.

"And I'll bring you back their mushroom ravioli," he adds, eyebrows raised, and that does it. His dad drops his arms and Ryan smiles. At least something's going his way; between the stewardess serving his juice into his lap and his suitcases not showing up in Indianapolis, Ryan is starting to think that he's jinxed.

He'd kinda hoped that Mike would be around so they could grab dinner together, but with or without him Ryan's hellbent on getting the best meatball sub in these city limits into his stomach. Heat schedules with coaches don't really compare on the scale of Things Ryan Wants next to balls of meat and gooey cheese and sauce with enough oregano to make his tongue sting.

Ryan guesses that Mike's with his family, though there might be endorsement stuff that he's forgetting about. And he's pissed at Mike for not calling. A little pissed. But Ryan knows that Mike's busy so he's a little pissed at himself too, because he guesses he's being selfish about it.

"Call if you're not coming right back." His dad knows how these big meets work; there's a familiar face around every corner.

Ryan pops a boyscout salute and smiles. "I'll look over the heats when I get back tonight, I swear."

There's a quiet grunt as his dad turns toward the opening elevator. "I just want my food to still be warm when you get here." Ryan waves at him as the doors close and then takes out his cell phone.

It's just that Ryan's kinda used to Mike being a call away. And on Saturday, when he took the Jaguars to the Super Bowl on Madden (because that shit would never happen in real life), he had to leave it on Mike's voicemail.

Gloating by yourself just isn't as fun.

And okay, the guy's a rockstar, but that's never stopped him from texting Ryan in the middle of a charity event with wow the food sux, i want mcedees. So five days incommunicado feels a bit like a fucking eternity.

He dials Mike's number as he wanders out of the hotel and onto the street. The sound of the ringing is promising, since over the weekend it went right to voicemail. But it keeps ringing and Ryan bites his bottom lip.

Hey, you've reached Michael.

Ryan thinks about the chick who answered the phone on Friday night. He wonders if she did body shots with Mike, and where she licked the tequila from.

I can't answer my phone right now, but leave me a message.

He's left messages. A lot of messages. He really doesn't want to leave any more.

I'll get back to you.

Ryan snaps his phone closed and pushes it back into his pocket. Maybe Mike's phone broke; there are a million possibilities aside from death that could keep the guy off the line. Like him having a life, for starters.

Of course, for like, the past two years—and more really the last ten months—their lives have kind of been in each other's pockets. But then, their clothes had also been in each other's houses.

A small gaggle of girls stop him on the corner across from the Italian place and Ryan happily leaves that thought behind. Mike totally has his quirks; him taking his clothes home was probably like, a spring (or summer?) cleaning. So.

Right, autographs.

Ryan signs shirts and stands in pictures, draping his arms over shoulders and smiling. The girls are nice; they've come in from Illinois and totally talk like Cullen, saying 'pop' instead of 'soda'. That makes Ryan laugh every time. He waves to them as he walks across the intersection toward the subshop and they wave back.

The thing about Mike is that you can't fucking miss him. He stands out. Even through the window that Ryan's now staring into, with a restaurant full of people, there's Mike. Maybe it's the broad shoulders, or the stupid ears, Ryan doesn't know. But it's been five days of silence between them and he suddenly realizes that he's been counting.

Ryan pushes in the door with a jangle of bells that gets pretty lost in the overall low din of the glorified pizza-joint. Inside it's warm and smells like dough and oregano. The tables are covered in the same red and white cloths that are used in every movie ever made about pizza places and there's a huge brick oven in the far wall near the kitchen.

Hilary sees him before the hostess can ask if he's eating alone and waves; Ryan asks the blonde if he can just pull a chair over to their table and she tells him to go for it. Which is cool considering how packed the little restaurant is.

Mrs Debbie stands up—not that it makes a ton of difference in her height—to give him a hug and kiss; Hilary hugs him too, and then scoots over so he can fit between her and her brother.

Mike stands up too. Ryan's heart beats a little too hard as he slides his arms around his friend—Mike smells like Old Spice and the water and the combination makes Ryan want to breathe deep. He'd missed that. He really had. Only, Mike doesn't really hug him, just thumps him on the back once and sits. It leaves Ryan wondering what just happened.

Well obviously it's because they're in public, which they are. And if anyone had forgotten, the waiter asks for autographs—both of their autographs—when he comes to the table to take drink orders.

Once he's gone, Ryan elbows Mike and gets to the important stuff. "Your phone broken or what?"

It's Bob that answers. "He left his charger in Florida."

Mike turns to his coach and looking at him from the side, Ryan thinks that he kinda looks like shit. But if his mom's managed to teach Ryan anything in his twenty-four years of life, it's that you should think before you say stuff like that.

So, "Did you?" pops out instead.

Mike looks back down at his menu. "Must have." Mrs Debbie's looking at Hilary, Hilary's looking at Ryan, Ryan's looking at Bob and Bob's eyes are on Mike, who's studying his menu. For a minute it's almost enough to laugh at, but nobody laughs.

Ryan picks up his own menu and smiles at Mrs Debbie. "How was the flight?"

The conversation gets easier after that; Ryan's not sure what's up with Bob and Mike, but they both seem a little frazzled. Not like that's a big surprise though, since there's water within a mile of where they're sitting. If Ryan weren't sure Mike had gotten in the water when he went home, he'd think that he was just getting bitchy because he was drying out.

"Have you checked your messages?" Ryan leans in and asks Mike when attention is elsewhere. He chuckles. "Dude, I left like, a million. I thought you might have been dead." It's easy to laugh off that worry now, with Mike at his elbow.

"Sorry." Mike glances up at him and then back down at the menu. "I don't think about checking voicemail with the regular phone."

Ryan guess he agrees with that—he probably wouldn't either. "So did you get your Fourth started early or what?" He sits back and scratches his side before pulling his own menu over.

Mike looks up again. "What?"

"Well I called Friday night and some girl picked up your phone." Ryan laughs. "And she sounded totally hammered, dude. She was probably the one who ran your battery down."

There's a moment where Mike stares at him like Ryan just grew a second head. He wets his lips and looks down at the menu. "I, uh. Yeah. She probably just, you know, it was on the bar or something..." Whatever else he is gonna stutter gets lost when Hilary leans in on Ryan's other side and asks him about his own Fourth of July.

Ryan smiles, he can't not smile, even though he watches Mike stare down his menu as he says, "It was awesome."

Between his stories about Carter stealing burgers off the grill and Kyle burning the hair off of his left leg, and Mrs Debbie and Hilary telling him about Mrs Debbie's new washer and dryer, Ryan doesn't get a lot of one-on-one time with Mike. And after the food comes it's a lost cause anyway because everyone's too busy eating to make a peep. This place still has the best subs in the city.

When most of the food is finished and Bob and Hilary are onto discussing the finer points of the butterfly and arguing about side-breathing, (so Ryan's kinda tuned out) Mike's voice is low. "We need to talk."

Ryan's licking sauce off his thumb and Mike kicks his foot when he doesn't respond right away. Ryan grimaces and pops his finger out of his mouth. "What? Watch the sneakers, dude."

"We need to talk."

"About what?" Ryan looks at Mike's plate, and it's like, still half-full. "Aren't you going to finish?"

Mike glances at the remains of his sub and picks up a few fries before putting them down and wiping his hands on his napkin. His chair scrapes back from the table. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"You bulimic no—ow," Ryan glares up at Mike as he's kicked in the ankle this time. Couldn't he find a less painful fucking way to pass secret messages? Ryan leans forward enough to rub tender skin for a moment and then stands up. "Good call," he says with a stretch, cracking his back. "I drank too much soda."

Hilary's eyes meet Ryan's and Ryan smiles at her before moving after Mike, who's like, already across the restaurant. He doesn’t really have to go to the bathroom but whatever is burning a hole in Mike's pants obviously can't wait. That's fine because Ryan wants to ask about the charger and maybe a blow job would be cool if there's a lock on the bathroom door.

But it's not the bathroom that he gets tugged into, it's a STAFF ONLY closest. He nearly knocks over a mop as Mike pushes him in far enough to close—and lock—the door. It smells like Lysol. "Dude, this is not exactly what I'd call ambiance. Couldn't you have made it back to the hotel?" But it's not really complaining and Ryan leans toward Mike with a grin, hands already reaching for jeans.

Mike's fingers are cool as they wrap around his wrist. "I don't think this is a good idea." The words come out in a rush and Mike's not looking at him. Ryan stops but doesn't back away.

"Then why the hell did you kick me to come back here?" That's just being a tease. He leans in and the collar of Mike's tshirt is stretched just enough that Ryan can fit his tongue into the hollow at the bottom of his throat. "Were you in the pool?" He tastes like chlorine.

Mike's head falling back against the door makes a quiet thump. "Yes," he sighs out. He is biting his lower lip and after a moment of watching, Ryan helps. Mike's grip drops off his wrist and it's quick work for Ryan to pop a button and slip his hand into loose jeans.

Mike breathes in. Ryan breathes out.

It's definitely not the most romantic handful that Ryan's ever had—they're surrounded by cleaning fluid, yellow Wet Floor signs and toilet paper—but there's something about the urgency of public sex that makes Ryan's blood pump a little bit quicker. And despite what the media thinks they know about the 'sexuality of swimming,' Mike's prone to be a prude.

Ryan wraps his fingers loosely around soft flesh and pulls with slow strokes until Mike starts to get hard and his breath is a little off-beat against Ryan's lips. If there's anything about sex with Mike that Ryan loves, it's how he falls apart. Watching that control come undone is seeing something rare and Ryan takes some fucking pride in being able to cause it. After all, when they'd first started sleeping together Mike basically had sex like every fuck was a fifty-meter race to the wall. Ryan's turned Mike into a pretty good 1500m'er—if he does say so himself—considering what he had to work with.

There's a vague taste of marinara sauce on Mike's tongue and his mouth is more demanding than usual. Ryan keeps up; after five days of not even talking it's really stupid but he thinks of that saying about men in the desert and water.

Maybe it was him who was drying out.

Ryan digs into Mike's back pocket for his wallet while still twisting his fingers around a warm, stiffening dick. That's multitasking, baby. He sucks in a breath and licks spit off his lips as Mike's mouth drops his.

"What're you doing?"

"What the hell do you think I'm doing, dude?" Ryan pulls both his hands out of Mike's pants and flips open the wallet he's extracted to thumb through the billfold. "You always have a condom." Because sex is sounding like a really good idea and Mike isn't the only one sporting wood.

The wallet is grabbed away, the leather yanked out from under Ryan's fingers so fast that a few of the bills he'd been pushing through flutter to the ground between them. "I don't."

Ryan laughs. "I thought you were the condom king." It's a tease—mostly—and Ryan leans the smile in against Mike's mouth. Mike kisses him, tongue against his teeth. Ryan steps closer to fill the space between them and his hips roll up, grinding himself into Mike. Fingers dig against his ass so Ryan figures that Mike put the wallet away. "We could—"

"No." The word is a low vibration against his mouth.

Ryan reaches down and squeezes Mike's dick through his pants. "Way to be a jerk about it," he says. He doesn't get the big deal. As far as he knows they've both been, for lack of a better word, monogamous since Nationals two years ago. Not that they discussed it, but Ryan figured it would come up. Or something.

He pushes his hand back into Mike's pants as lips seal over his and he guesses that's the end of that conversation. Except, with the sheer amount of blood screens they get as top-level athletes, they know they're clean and okay Ryan might be a little hung up on this. So he pulls his mouth away from Mike, his hand stilling on the waiting dick, oily liquid smearing against the heel of his palm.

Suddenly there's a little, like, angel on his shoulder with Kyle's face chirping, So you wouldn't say Mike's your boyfriend? And Ryan's never made it a habit to have unprotected sex with people who weren't a significant other.

So Mike is...

Mike is kissing his neck in the silence, scraping teeth, and popping the button on Ryan's jeans to shove his hand under the band of briefs. Cool fingers rub and then fold around his dick with a sharp enough tug to derail Ryan's train of thought. He sucks in a breath and the Kyle-angel is totally gone because it's just all sorts of fucking wrong to think about Kyle while getting jerked.

Ryan's hand shifts higher, closing mostly around thick head and some shaft and squeezing. He can feel the pulse of it against his palm and Mike's moan is more a quiet puff of breath against Ryan's neck than a real sound. It makes Ryan's dick twitch and his balls ache and sex, handjobs, whatever. He just wants Mike.

It's quick the way sex wouldn't necessarily be, but it's still better than good. Ryan tries to focus on moving his hand, keeping his grip tight in the way he knows Mike responds to but it's hard when most of his brain is focused on the getting instead of the giving. His free hand pushes under the hem of Mike's shirt and fingers hold onto skin, smooth and flat and cool, making sure they stay close—not that it seems to be a problem with the way Mike's kissing him now. Ryan's lips feel vaguely bruised and they throb with each new press.

Mike loosens his hand a little and works in fast strokes that make Ryan's skin feel too tight, that have him pressing into the sensation and opening his mouth against Mike's, breath stuck in his throat. His own hand stops. He pushes onto his toes and his eyes close as Mike sucks on his lower lip.

Ryan can't breathe. He doesn't want to. Mike's close enough and Ryan's so close and his body hums and his fingers curl and all the words he really wants to say are always stuck on his tongue but he wonders if Mike knows them anyway, if he can taste them when they kiss.

Ryan comes with a gasp that burns his lungs, his body jerking against Mike's. The strokes slow but don't stop, don't pull away and the last few seconds of his orgasm are almost painful. When it's over Ryan leans in and Mike stands there, holding him up, their mouths trading breath instead of kisses.

The floor is cool against his knees even through his jeans and Ryan's still struggling to breathe right but he doesn't care. He tugs underwear down under Mike's balls and wraps one hand around the shaft of Mike's dick, pulling it away from where it leans just left of center against his stomach.

It's warm on his tongue, against the roof of his mouth and hearing Mike choke on a moan is enough to make his own tired dick twitch with interest. Ryan covers his teeth with his lips—a trick he learned from whistling through his fingers—and sets a pace on Mike's dick that he knows is almost too much by the way fingers tighten in his hair with a near-painful suddenness. He keeps going, doesn't stop, tongue flat and cheeks hollow until he feels muscles tighten under the hands he's put on Mike's hips.

Ryan can count it down from there; he knows. Knows Mike. And swallowing isn't the greatest thing in the world but he does it when Mike comes because he's not going to spit onto a restaurant floor.

Mike slumps against the door, his breath loud in the tiny room, his dick flagging against Ryan's tongue. Ryan rocks back onto his heels and coughs into his hand before pushing to his feet and trying to find some paper towels. By the time he does—it's the stiff, brown kind that comes on a roll, but there's nothing better—Mike's already got himself packed away.

"Hope you didn't get come in my hair," Ryan jokes, reaching up to run fingers into the gelled curls. Mike grabs the paper towel from him to wipe his hand off and doesn't laugh. In fact, for a guy who's just gotten off he definitely looks a little too fucking serious.

Ryan punches his arm lightly and reaches past him to unlock the door. "Stop thinking about the pool." Because when Mike looks like that, he's already got his head in the game.

"Yeah," Mike breathes out, pushing the paper towel into his pocket and running a hand over his hair. He shaved his face in Baltimore—with the lazy dusting of a goatee gone he is rocking the baby-face. Ryan bites back a comment about him looking twelve and pulls open the door to let them out.

He hadn't thought about him and Mike in terms of a relationship, like, ever. So he didn't really think about what other people thought of them, either. But since Kyle spoke his peace last Friday there's been something going on in Ryan's head, right behind conscious thought. And when they get back to the table he notices how Hilary's eyes come up—it's different than Mrs Debbie and Bob, who just glance and then go back to what they were talking about. Hilary's watching them and Ryan's mouth goes a little dry.

The feeling he gets when her blue eyes meet his, it's not like what's been going on lately in the pit of his stomach, all tight and hard when some chick picks up Mike's phone. It's different. Like when he gets hit by a wave—it's sudden and sure it'll fuck you up if you fight it but really the water's warm and there's the promise of fresh air.

It's totally not a bad feeling and he flashes a wide smile at her.

She smiles back.

Mike, on the other hand, has got his head so far up his own ass that it's a wonder he can even walk straight. Ryan would say that Mike can't possibly be that focused on the meet but this is Mike he's talking about here. It's just hard for Ryan to grasp the concept of getting worked up over a swim. It's a swim, not the end of the world.

"Guess we're ready," Mrs Debbie says, pushing back out of her chair. The leftovers were boxed up while they were gone and Ryan's dad's food is here, too. He picks it up off the table and presses his nose to the styrofoam to smell it.

On the way back to the hotel the plastic bag hangs from his wrist and bounces against his side. Indianapolis is a pretty okay place, almost cool now that the sun has set, but really, he feels a little too light without the G-Spot humidity. Like he might just float away. In front of him Hilary slips her arm through Mike's and the easy contact makes Ryan miss his sisters. And brothers. And even Kyle, who's here and just shacked up somewhere with the rest of the Gators. Not any real reason to miss them just now, but he does. And his mom.

So maybe he hugs Mrs Debbie a little too hard when they get off the elevator, but she just rubs his back and smiles when he lets her go. She's cool like that.

Gregg's in the room with his Dad when Ryan gets there with the food. "The airline found your luggage," his coach says when he opens the door. "Guess you'll have to get in the water after all."

"That sucks," Ryan jokes. It's good that someone is on stuff like that because between handjobs and food, he'd actually completely forgotten about his LZRs being M.I.A. He knows a lot of swimmers who pack one in their carry-on just in case, but he's pretty sure that doing that is like, tempting fate or some shit. It's a downer planning for disaster.

Food is traded for heat schedules and Ryan flops into a chair near the window. His events for the week are more or less stretched out; there's a couple days of doubled-up finals but that's not so bad, not anything he can't handle. Mike's heavier in the beginning of the week—maybe that explains his game face in the restaurant because no doubt Bob stapled the schedule to his forehead a month ago.

It's only when his dad smacks his knee lightly does Ryan realize that he's been zoning out, or maybe dozing, because he thinks that he was dreaming about Crocker being taped to the wall of Mike's bedroom with red, white and blue sports tape. That's a pretty disturbing image, actually. Ryan rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and stands up to stretch himself out. A couple joints pop.

"Go sleep," his dad says. The carton next to his elbow is open and empty, red sauce wiped clean by garlic bread. Gregg glances up from the Gators roster and it gives Ryan a sense of déjà vu, weird.

He wonders if it's like, a conspiracy. He and Mike have kinda been down-low about stuffing each other, because there's all that media shit to think about, but man. Everyone seems to know. How long has Gregg been looking at him like that? Or Hilary. Kyle? He should probably be freaked out, but...

Yeah. Ryan guesses he's not. Because it's no good to be happy and not share it with anyone.

He lets himself out of the room and walks up a flight of steps and down the hall to his own door, flip-flops snapping. He brushes fingertips over the pattern on the wallpaper and wonders for real if Mike thinks of them as boyfriends. The word sounds stupid when you put it with their names, like, Ryan and Mike are boyfriends.

Because they don't do stuff that couples are supposed to do. Buying each other flowers,

He's bought Mike those Girl Scout cookies he goes nuts for, hasn't he?

or cuddling together to watch a movie,

He puts his feet on Mike whenever they're sitting around watching TV.

or writing stupid poems...

What's a text message anyway?

"Shit," Ryan says quietly, because he's pretty sure he just tricked himself out of tricking himself into something. He bites his lower lip and pushes open their door.

He doesn't bother flipping the light on, just pulls off his shirt and kicks off his flops. It's sort of a let down that Mike's asleep. Here Ryan is getting carried away with shit and the guy doesn't even have the decency to be awake to take the rap for it.

Ryan smiles at himself and crawls into the bed Mike's occupying. They don't ever sleep in the same bed during meets but Ryan's stuff is still everywhere on the other bed and it would be rude to turn on the lights to clear it. Right?


The bed is warm and Ryan presses up behind Mike and settles his nose against the soft fuzz on the back of his neck. Old Spice. Bleach. And something under all that, something just Mike. It's a total cliché but Ryan's convinced it's true. He tucks his knees against the back of Mike's and closes his eyes.

Love. It's weird, but there it is. And maybe Ryan is kinda digging it.

Tie My Hands, Part 6: When Michael Hits the Downward Spiral


( 47 comments — Leave a comment )
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Jan. 18th, 2009 11:19 pm (UTC)
I missed this so fucking much...
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:21 pm (UTC)
Jan. 19th, 2009 12:36 am (UTC)
YAY its back!
Oh, poor Ryan! I want to just make him feel better, strip him naked...you know.

Whats up with olympic_slash? There havent been updates in like a week?
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:22 pm (UTC)
Re: YAY its back!
I guess there weren't any new stories? Because mine went up within a day of submission. Maybe the fandom is drying up...
Re: YAY its back! - sexy_cheetah - Jan. 19th, 2009 10:45 pm (UTC) - Expand
Jan. 19th, 2009 03:53 am (UTC)
I'm so happy that you updated and it was wonderful as always, but the whole time I just felt dread bubbling up in my stomach because this is Not Going To End Well.
I also got so tickled by the references to other swimmers.
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:25 pm (UTC)
^__^ I like the capital usage, Not Going To End Well. And as for that... well, I like happy endings. *ahem* It just might take some time and angst to get there. Heh.

There's more 'other' swimmers to come! They start making appearances at the meet; I couldn't just leave them out. I love MP and Ryan, but I also love Matt and Aaron and Cullen and Ian...

Jan. 19th, 2009 05:15 am (UTC)
So glad there's an update! I just have this sense of dread though... It's coming, isn't it?
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:26 pm (UTC)
It got longer on me then I originally planned for, but yeah. It's coming. ^_____^ *evil grin*
Jan. 19th, 2009 05:32 am (UTC)

I've been on Phlochte withdrawal, no posts in forever! And your fics are always so amazing.

Can't wait for part 6! :D
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:27 pm (UTC)
Thank you! <333

Really does seem like a shortage of fic lately, doesn't it??
Jan. 19th, 2009 05:34 am (UTC)
I'm so happy you updated this that it brought me out of lurkdom. Had to laugh at the Illinois-speak cause we do talk like that. I'm with everyone else that something dreadful is coming up. It's going to get ugly when they wake up, isn't it?
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:29 pm (UTC)
LOL! I have family from Chicago, and I just remember back when we were all young... I definitely made fun of them for saying Pop. ^_^

And *zips lips.* You wouldn't really want me to ruin it, would you? ^^ <333
Jan. 19th, 2009 05:41 am (UTC)
Yay! So happy to see an update! Although I'm kind of worried about what I sense coming in the next chapter. But still, can't wait for it. Another great chapter!
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:30 pm (UTC)
Thank you! Just think of it as the storm before the blue sky. ^_^

And, ahem. Wow. That icon... Ryan should always have something in his mouth...
(no subject) - rockstarforever - Jan. 20th, 2009 03:07 am (UTC) - Expand
Jan. 19th, 2009 06:02 am (UTC)
I was so happy to see this pop up on my FL!!

Ryan is totally adorable in this chap, and I know bad stuff is coming for him, but I hope he gets his happy ending eventually. :D
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:31 pm (UTC)
I could never deny Ryan a happy ending. It would break my soul not to let him keep smiling. Eventually. ^________^
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:38 am (UTC)
First off, let me I say I missed this so bad.

Second, Mike, I hate you honestly. You're an ass.

Third, Ryan, bb, i'm so sorry.

This is so good, I just feel so bad for Ry who is obviously NOT getting it.

*kicks Mike*
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:34 pm (UTC)
Re: Hallelujah
First, #^____^ <333

Second, it gets worse.

Third, it gets worse.

^^ Ryan being clueless is part of his charm. He'll get it eventually.
Re: Hallelujah - agape_eternal - Jan. 20th, 2009 06:57 pm (UTC) - Expand
Jan. 19th, 2009 12:07 pm (UTC)
Because it's no good to be happy and not share it with anyone.

I second this sentiment, wholeheartedly. Michael just need to understand that, too.

My heart goes out to Ryan. I just want to kick Mike now or something...hopefully knock some sense into him. Poor Ry Ry.

Like everyone else, I sense something absolutely terrible lurking on the Phlochte horizon. This "morning after" isn't going to be good at all.
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:39 pm (UTC)
I love that line, and I'm so glad people are getting it. That's the whole difference between Mike and Ryan in this story. *nod* As always darling, thanks for reading. <333

And nice job with the Grand Prix! LOL. Your write-up in RD was fabulous.
Jan. 19th, 2009 02:25 pm (UTC)
I've missed this. I never usually comment on fic, but this series is exceptionally well written.

Kyle-angel just made my morning. Really, I want a Kyle-angel...
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:42 pm (UTC)
Heee! I seriously laughed out loud to myself when I wrote Kyle-angel in the story, I think it was a first. ^_^ *places one firmly on your shoulder.*

I'm glad you're enjoying, and thanks for commenting!!
(no subject) - darklyscarlett - Jan. 19th, 2009 11:19 pm (UTC) - Expand
Jan. 19th, 2009 04:10 pm (UTC)
Oh god. I'm so afraid that Michael is going to break Reezy's heart. :( Glad this is back though. New one soon plz!
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:44 pm (UTC)
The good news is that the next, like, four parts are mostly written so all that needs to be done is editing.

The bad news is that I can make no promises about the state of Ryan's heart.

(no subject) - ivebeenburgled - Jan. 19th, 2009 11:15 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - caelumi - Jan. 19th, 2009 11:17 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - ivebeenburgled - Jan. 19th, 2009 11:53 pm (UTC) - Expand
Jan. 19th, 2009 05:57 pm (UTC)
[...]because he thinks that he was dreaming about Crocker being taped to the wall of Mike's bedroom with red, white and blue sports tape.

Bwahahaha, okay, that image just made my day.

Otherwise, first impression: yay! You're back!

And after reading all of it: Man. Poor, oblivious Ryan. I feel so bad for him, and I want to kick Michael in the head for leading him on like that. I know he's just being a wuss about saying anything, but Ryan's going to be crushed when it finally comes out (probably in explosive form).

I love this thing. There are the perfect amount of details and both of their inner voices are so good. The story is moving along at the right pace to make me crave more at the end of each chapter. Mmf. Lovely.
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:54 pm (UTC)
^_________^ Thank you. Have I said that before? Thank you. <333

This whole thing turned out so much longer than I thought it would, so I'm glad to hear that the pacing feels good. Tell me if that starts to change, lol, with them in this story it's like a balancing act.
(no subject) - leici - Jan. 22nd, 2009 04:56 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - agape_eternal - Jan. 20th, 2009 06:58 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - leici - Jan. 22nd, 2009 04:55 am (UTC) - Expand
Jan. 19th, 2009 06:40 pm (UTC)
this was seriously amazing... im glad you are back to updating!!! and i hope we dont have to wait a lot for the next part... cant wait =)
Jan. 19th, 2009 10:58 pm (UTC)
LOL! Like, hint hint, nudge nudge, right? Hehehe.

But thanks! And don't worry. They'll come much more regularly from now on.
Jan. 20th, 2009 02:10 am (UTC)
oh thank god someone posted something... I am dying of Phlochte withdrawal =(
No one posts anything in like a century O.o
I missed this fic soooo much, I didnt comment much but I want you to know tha I read every single chapter =D
I hope Mike isn't going to be an ass with my little Ryan XD
And thanks again for the update \o/
Jan. 21st, 2009 01:20 am (UTC)
Thanks for reading! It'll be more regular from now on. ^_^
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